


Do toy cowboys dream of toy sheep?

by TheMusicalCC



Category: Toy Story (Movies)
Genre: (Yes despite the title this isn't Woody/Bo centric), Alright so I put a teeny bit of Woody/Bo there sue me, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Nightmares, ah the joy of overthinking charming animated movies to the point where they become lowkey terrifying, it's still not the central theme because I was feeling like mind-fucking myself, on a scale from 1 to 'Think of the children' it's probably mild but still, what is rating how do I rate cartoon violence what is my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 20:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18557383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMusicalCC/pseuds/TheMusicalCC
Summary: Even a toy can tell you dreams aren't always pleasant.





	Do toy cowboys dream of toy sheep?

‘ _Why do we dream?_ ’ Buzz asks him one afternoon, when Andy’s room has started to look like a room again and he’s down taking a nap on the sofa with mom cooking dinner. It’s been a busy day for the kid and Woody’s proud of how hard he’s worked to making the house into a home, despite the fact that him and his mom hadn’t had much help. The toys are barely familiarizing themselves with the surroundings too, and he and Buzz are looking over them as they do, with a somewhat nostalgic smell of spaghetti coming from the kitchen downstairs. Andy’s favorite since kindergarten.

“We are toys” Buzz keeps saying “So the idea that we can _dream_ is a bit...” he trails off, brow furrowing.

“Weird” Woody offers and he nods.

“Yes, but also- what is the purpose of us dreaming?”

“None, I guess” Woody shrugs a bit. Buzz is kind of really fixated on the concept of purpose and sometimes he takes a bit of pleasure in enlightening him to all sorts of things that are _just because_ “It just happens sometimes” however and because this answer doesn’t seem to leave Buzz at ease, Woody joins the dots and charges “What, have you been having bad dreams?”

Buzz starts a bit, as though pinched.

“Is it normal, then?” he hisses, somewhere between relief and mortification.

“About as normal as it is in humans- more even, when you consider you almost got...” it’s Woody’s turn to trail off. There is no delicate way of saying ‘ _Almost got blown up_ ’ though, so he gives up on saying anything else. Buzz studies the toys still trailing over the floor for a moment and then turns to him.

“Do you have them?”

For a moment, Woody considers lying to make himself seem tougher. But really, there is no point in lying to Buzz, who’s seen him at his worst.

“Yep” he breathes out finally “...specially lately. Like I said, it’s normal after our stay in the little house of horrors.”

They stay silent for a while. Mom calls Andy’s name and they hear his footballs move to the kitchen, lacking their usual bounce. He really is exhausted, the poor thing.

“What do you dream of?” Buzz finally asks. Woody shoots him a look, hoping to silence him with it, but Buzz misses the cue, as per usual “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine”

He wants to throw his arms out and tell him to forget it. Or just pretend he didn’t say anything. At the same time, he hates that he wants to do that. He wants to be better. _No way around it_ , Woody thinks, _he’s under your care now as well. Or you’re under his. Or something_ \- he also knows he owes him the truth. He will always owe him the truth. He breathes out.

“Well… there’s dreams where I’m at Sid’s and I’m alone” he starts, fiddling with his fingers a bit, eyes set down, but not really seeing anything “You’re not there and neither are his toys. Just me, and I can hear him coming to the door and I’m at the window and there’s only blackness outside. Either I jump into it or I let him get me. It’s like I’m standing there forever just trying to decide which is a worst fate”

“What do you choose?” Buzz asks hesitantly.

“I jump out, every time” Woody says “And I wake up”

But there is _that_ moment, right after his feet leave the desk and he can see the darkness pour into his eyes that he’s not sure he will wake up at all. He thinks he’ll just fall forever, deeper into black and never come out. And no one will miss him. Buzz does a sound with his mouth that’s not quite a whistle, but trying to be one and grimaces a bit.

“That’s… that’s one pretty messed up dream”

“Hm- now tell me yours”

Buzz hesitates, breathes, huffs, shifts over the seat again and finally his shoulders sag a bit.

“I’m- in the dream, I try to fly out Sid’s window and I fall...” he pauses. Woody’s wondering why what seems to him like the least traumatizing part of their ordeals is the one replaying in Buzz’s dreams when he continues “But when my arm comes off there’s blood. And bones, and I can’t breathe” his hands are tight over his knees, a sign Woody is learning to read as his way to stay grounded when he’s freaking out. He’s not telling the full story but Woody doesn’t ask for it; he knows that some implications will only ever make sense to oneself and no one else “It takes me a couple of seconds to wake up”

They pause again, Woody mulling over the mental images over and over- and then Buzz talks again.

“There’s another one, you know. Where Sid picks you instead of me for the rocket” this makes Woody look at him wide-eyed “And because I’m not you, I can’t come up with a good plan. He blows you up in front of me and it’s my fault for not listening to you before. Sometimes I can’t wake from that one until someone shakes me”

Woody is too bewildered to say anything at first, but he does reach and pat Buzz on the back clumsily. By the time he figures what to say, it feels like it’s become a contest of perturbing imagery, but really, he’s just still surprised that Buzz and him actually have so much in common and he has to share it.

“...sometimes I dream others take your place” he says “I mean- instead of being stuck there with you, it’s someone else...” his throat closes up at the memory “It’s Slink… or Rocky, or Hamm, or...” his eyes slide over the boards of the floor and Buzz follows them to Bo and lets out a soft ‘ _Oh_ ’ in realization “All the things- all the things he did to us- and- and to his toys. Even some of the things he just _threatened_ to do, he does it to them” the amazingly vivid memory of the time it was Bo and Sid was going to take her head off like he did to Hanna’s doll but Woody couldn’t see anything, Sid’s back was too big, he couldn’t see and all he heard was the sound of porcelain _breaking_ and- “And I have to watch- and know it’s my fault they ended up there in the first place, and I can’t wake up either, until I roll out of the bed or something. Sometimes it feels like it’s real precisely because I can’t wake up”

Buzz ponders on this for a moment before he reaches for his back just as clumsily and pats him, almost sending him toppling forward. Really, how the hell is he so strong? He doesn’t seem to know what to say next, and neither does Woody, so they slide into another silence. The neighborhood is a very quiet one and Woody, for one, is grateful that he doesn’t have to hear maniacal laughter or a dog barking like crazy every odd day and know someone is getting blown up or torn to pieces. He isn’t sure he could bear it anymore.

“How do you…?” Buzz starts yet again, and clears his throat “I mean, those sound so unnerving- how do you deal with them?”

“I wake up” Woody says with a shrug “And I thank every lucky star out there that it was just a dream”

He could tell him he rushes to Bo and hugs her close, but it wouldn’t be true because he always ends up chickening out and it’s her that ends up holding him close, squeezing him even, somehow aware that it’s what he needs. She drowns out the sound of her neck snapping with sweet words or with kisses that make him light-headed; in the end just feeling her close should be enough and he gets so much more.

Or that he sits next to Slink and scratches his ears for hours. Or that he doubles up on his efforts to be better because he doesn’t want to be the kind of toy that puts those he’s supposed to protect in that situation ever again- and he grounds himself with the certainty that he’s not. When he and Buzz play checkers or he lets Potato Head say his fill because he now knows the frustration behind the words or when he’s the one everyone go to with their problems again because they know he’s to be trusted and he doesn’t feel any less respectable for delegating topics he knows full well others can better help with- each of these instances is a step further from the kind of toy he’d been and this knowledge gives him a intimate sense of pride.

He doesn’t know that Buzz can do that, though, because things are still so new to him and maybe the ground doesn’t quite feel like the ground to him yet.

“Tell you what- if they come again, wake me up and we’ll hang around” he says instead “We’ll tell stories. You can tell me about that bananas Space Ranger thing and I can tell you about One-Eyed-Bart’s heists. Or we can talk about the weather. Whatever you need”

They hear Andy thank his mom for the meal and ask if it’s OK if he goes to bed early. Everyone hurries to their places and they frantically climb down onto the floor and race to the bed. Buzz settles over the pillow and Woody spreads unceremoniously somewhere near the foot of the mattress, and tired footstep slowly make their way up the stairs.

“Woody?” Buzz whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I’d like that” the Space Ranger looks like he could cry “I’d like that a lot, my friend”

Woody purses his lips to keep himself from smiling too much. Buzz has been calling him a ‘Friend’ since they got back and it still doesn’t get any less touching, coming from someone who used to be so detached.

“Anytime, buddy”

**Author's Note:**

> My porn fairy (Who doubles as my angst fairy and my self-servicing fluff fairy and lately as my 'This idea is fucking insane but it sounds like so much fun' fairy as well) and I were talking about how messed up the concept that toys can dream (As per film 2 canon) actually is and one thing led to another and- yeah.
> 
> Harr de harr the title is named after a book I have never read but still was unique enough that I thought of it immediately while pondering what this should be called. No solid reasoning behind that one, we name works on impulse and stick with our probably poor choices like men.


End file.
